33 FIGHT TO KILL
RùN SNORTED A nervous greeting, and Darach went to him, soothing him with a stroke to the neck. Ailsa watched them, suddenly feeling excluded.
Just a few moments, that’s all it had taken, and now the world had tilted.
The truth she’d been running from had just tackled her, had just brought her crashing to the ground.
Suddenly, everything about her made sense.
Horribly so.
She started to shiver then, quashing the urge to bolt into the trees and throw up, yet she swallowed the nausea down. She wished she’d never set foot inside that shieling. But she had, and there was no undoing it.
“Come on,” Darach said, not looking her way. “I need to scout … and neither of us should linger here.”
In case the bavaan come back.
The words were unspoken. Nonetheless, they hung between them.
With that, he untied Rùn and led him through the trees, north.
Ailsa followed at their heels, sickly and shaky.
She wanted Darach to reassure her, to insist there was nothing wrong with her.
But he didn’t. Instead, he’d withdrawn.
Have you been manipulating me all this time?
A hard knot clenched like a fist under her breastbone. Just a short while ago, he’d wanted her. He’d kissed her as if he were starving for her. Now, after seeing those dead hunters inside the shieling, everything had changed.
It felt like betrayal.
Her belly started to burn then. She’d thought he understood what it was to be different, to fight the beast within.
And he had—until now.
They moved through the woods, and gradually, the way grew rockier, slower. The light had nearly faded, and a freezing mist drifted like smoke through the trees. Ailsa’s nose started to tingle, her fingers were aching from the cold, their tips numb.
They shouldn’t be out tonight. However, they had no choice. Kayla was too near to let slip through their fingers again.
On and on they walked, night falling in a black curtain. And then, Ailsa smelled it. Her nose twitched. Halting, she breathed in slowly, testing the dank air.
Faint but definitely there.
They’d reached the bottom of a shrubby hill now and were pushing through tangles of bramble.
“Darach.” She’d whispered his name, but he heard. Back stiffening, he halted and glanced over his shoulder. It was dark now, yet her eyes had adjusted to it. She marked how guarded his expression was. “Woodsmoke.”
He sniffed the air, his gaze widening.
It struck her then that he wasn’t the only one whose senses had sharpened of late. She’d scented the smoke before he had.
Nodding, he then placed a finger to his lips, warning her to be silent. He looped Rùn’s reins around a tree and beckoned to her, making it clear she was to follow, before creeping forward.
She joined him, and together they made their way up, climbing through a bed of withered ferns, brushing through more brambles, to where the rocky ground suddenly gave way.
Crouched on the lip, Ailsa craned her neck down, her gaze sweeping over the steep-sided corrie below.
Five horses stood, hobbled at the northern edge of the hollow.
And there, in the center of it, burned a campfire. Ruddy firelight flickered over stone, illuminating the faces of the black-cloaked men seated around the fire pit.
Three of them.
As Darach had predicted, one would be keeping watch.
One was spit-roasting a hare, another sharpened a blade on a whetstone, while the third warmed his hands over the flames. The warriors spoke in low voices between themselves.
The aroma of cooking meat made Ailsa’s mouth water, reminding her that her last decent meal had been the night before. However, her attention didn’t linger upon the roasting hare or the men, but on the small woman with curly red hair.
Kayla sat a few feet back from the fire, spine pressed against the trunk of a spindly pine, wrists and ankles bound.
Ailsa’s breathing caught. Finally.
Reaching out, she grabbed Darach’s wrist. She then squeezed.
The grisly scene in the shieling vanished from her mind, as did the knowledge that had settled between them afterward. All that mattered was that Kayla was here. Alive and seated close enough to call out to.
She wouldn’t though. Everything depended on what they did now.
Glancing his way, she squeezed his wrist once more, more urgently this time.
He tore his attention from the group gathered by the fireside and met her gaze before nodding. And then, he jerked his chin back the way they’d climbed. It was time to retrace their steps.
“We can’t make any mistakes,” Ailsa said, blinking to banish the sudden image of gaping bloody throats and dead eyes that flashed before her.
Not now.
“We won’t.” Darach dropped to a crouch and dragged a finger through the damp earth, drawing a crude circle with three marks around it. He then drew one slightly apart—Kayla—and another right of the camp. “I’ll deal with the sentry first.”
Behind them, Rùn shifted uneasily, leather creaking. They’d climbed back down the hill and now were well out of earshot of their quarry.
He then glanced up, his gaze settling on his stallion.
Ailsa tensed. “What?”
“Rùn will provide the distraction we need,” he replied. “If he bolts across the edge of the corrie … and makes some noise … they’ll think something is coming for them.”
She inclined her head. “A predator?”
“Aye … there are plenty of them out here.”
Their gazes locked, a silent acknowledgement settling between them for the first time since the shieling. He wasn’t just referring to her, but himself.
“That should work,” she replied, forcing a tight smile.
Leaning forward, he circled one of the marks in the dirt.
“One will likely go to investigate … and those who stay will be watching outward, not behind them.” He paused then, cutting her a glance.
“While they’re distracted, you slip up behind Kayla and free her …
and the moment she has a blade in her hands, we’ll take them.
” He drew another mark on the western edge of the corrie. “I’ll approach from here.”
Ailsa weighed his words. All the while, the mist pressed in, thick and so cold it seared her lungs. Rùn stamped once, impatient now.
Ailsa drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. His plan made sense.
Darach’s gaze dropped to her hands then, and she curled her fingers into her palms before she could stop herself. The image of torn throats flared again, sharp and sickening.
He looked up then, searching her face. She held still beneath his scrutiny, every muscle tight. “We fight to kill tonight, Ailsa. Are you ready?”
“Aye,” she replied, her voice roughening. “We’ve hunted those fuckers for long enough. They’ll not take Kayla a yard farther.”
He nodded. His hand lifted then, and for an instant, she thought he might stroke her cheek. Then, his jaw tightened, and he pulled away.
Ailsa’s heart started to pound. Couldn’t he even bring himself to touch her?
She wanted to have it out with him—to make him admit it to her face—but there was no time.
“Here,” Darach said, drawing a long-bladed dagger from its sheath on his thigh. “Tuck it into your belt and give it to Kayla when you free her.”
Rising to her feet, she slid the dagger beneath her belt so that the grip sat against her spine.
“Right.” Darach’s voice held a businesslike, detached edge now. The mercenary was about to get the job done. “Let’s go.”
They moved off, two silent figures threading through the trees, leading Rùn down to the southern edge of the corrie.
The waxing moon was rising, glimmering through the wreathing mist. All the same, the night was uncannily still.
Noise traveled, and every time the stallion’s heavy hooves made a twig snap or brushed against undergrowth, Ailsa’s pulse leaped.
Eventually, Darach drew his horse up. They were close to the fire now; its faint glow reached them through the trees.
They were likely nearing the sentry and had to move very quietly.
Ailsa’s nostrils flared.
She could smell him. The reek of unwashed male. Just a few yards away. Waiting in the shadows.
The glint in Darach’s eyes told her he’d caught it too.
Nodding to her, he handed Rùn’s reins over.
An instant later, he disappeared in the direction of the camp.
Ailsa waited, and shortly after, he returned, silent as a wraith, to her side.
She shot him a questioning look, and he nodded before whispering, “It was the one with the injured leg.”
The first of the warriors had been dealt with. It was now time to move on with their plan.
To her surprise, Darach shifted close to her, his head dipping to murmur in her ear. “Watch your back, Ailsa.” Then, without another word, he took his horse’s reins.
Stepping up to the stallion, he pressed his forehead briefly to Rùn’s and murmured something low. The horse shivered, muscles bunching as if he too understood what was about to happen.
Ailsa left them to it, slipping away through the trees without another word.
She’d skirt the eastern edge of the corrie, crawling through the shadows to where Kayla sat, unaware that she was about to be rescued.
The mist swallowed Ailsa, and as it did, she heard a ‘thwack’ as Darach struck the stallion hard on the rump.
Rùn squealed and exploded forward. Branches cracked, hooves thundered downhill.
The night’s stillness shattered.
Ailsa dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl.
Something sharp stabbed at her palm, and she bit back a hiss. She was just a few yards from the group now, hidden behind a growth of blackthorn.
The warriors leaped to their feet, iron scraping against leather as they drew their blades. And then, as they’d anticipated, one of them stalked toward the ruckus that Rùn had caused. Meanwhile, the other two watched him go.
The timing was perfect.
Now, she just had to get to Kayla. She also had to ensure she didn’t startle her.
Her mentor was alert, sitting forward, spine stiff.
Pushing aside blackthorn and wincing as thorns clawed at her, Ailsa edged forward. And when she reached the boulder, she whispered, “Kayla.”
The woman jolted, her head jerking in her direction.
And then she saw Ailsa.
Their gazes locked for an instant. Relief flared in Kayla’s eyes before alarm chased it.
Her lips parted, as if to warn her, but Ailsa moved. Whipping her small blade free from her boot, she cut the ropes binding Kayla’s wrists. All the while, she kept her eye on the remaining two men.
They were still turned away, both standing on the southern edge of the fire, bodies tensed as they waited for their friend to return and give the all clear.
The moment the rope fell away, Ailsa drew the dagger from her belt and pushed it into Kayla’s hands. She then started to saw at the bindings at her ankles.
The hemp rope was tough, and although her blade was wickedly sharp, cutting through the binding took longer than she’d hoped.
Teeth clenched, she sawed at the fibers. Kayla wore leather boots, yet she didn’t want to accidentally cut her feet.
Fuck. This was taking forever.
A shout rang through the hollow, just as the rope gave way.
Ailsa looked up to find that the two warriors had turned. They’d seen her.
She leaped to her feet, her fingers clenching around the knife’s grip. Kayla scrambled up too.
Ailsa’s gaze swept over them. Tracking and assessing. Both were big and muscular. Long-bladed iron daggers in their hands. Woad tattoos wrapped around their bare arms and crept up from the collars of their vests. Muscles flexed in their jaws, as if they were gripped in some strange rictus.
Their gazes glinted with a strange silvery glow that didn’t belong to the firelight.
Her breath caught. “Are they druids?” she hissed to Kayla.
“No,” her mentor bit out. “They’re aberrations.”
“Where are they from?”
“Their accents are southern … that’s all I know.”
Ailsa scowled. However, now wasn’t the time for more questions, for those warriors were advancing on them.
Kayla cut her a fierce look. “Stay back. Let me handle them.”
Ailsa scowled. No chance of that. Stepping forward, she focused instead on the shadow that crept up behind one of the warriors.
Here he was, as stealthy as the beast that lived beneath his skin.
Iron flashed, and the warrior—tall with close-cropped flaxen hair—went rigid.
Wheezing, he staggered forward, blood spurting from his mouth.
Darach had driven his blade up through his ribs into his lungs. The man sagged to his knees, still struggling as he stepped close and cut his throat.
The warrior toppled forward, and the coppery tang of blood slammed into Ailsa.
He hadn’t even hit the ground when she moved toward the remaining warrior. She was barely aware of her hands moving, only that her knife suddenly seemed cumbersome, and the desire to tear his flesh with her fingernails was stronger than anything else.
Behind her, Kayla cried out a warning.
Cornered, the man fought viciously, his eyes glowing silver as he lunged and slashed with his blade. Gods, he was fast.
His pulse fluttered in his throat as he fought. She tracked it.
Kayla called her name again, her voice edged in panic, but Ailsa didn’t look her way, didn’t break her concentration.
All she wanted now was to open his neck. And she would.
Dodging the vicious swipe of a blade, she ducked under the man’s guard and clawed at his throat. Her nails dug into flesh—and ripped.
Blood welled, and he staggered back.
Kayla lunged then, elbowing her out of the way and stabbing him through the eye.
And then Darach drove his sword into the warrior’s side, bringing him down.
They stood over him, watching as he died, twitching.
Blood spread beneath the warrior in a dark, steaming pool. Ailsa stared at it. Her mouth started to water. The pulse in her throat hammered so hard it hurt.
One step. That was all it would take.
And then she’d drop beside him, she’d press her hands into the warmth, and taste—
“Ailsa!”
Kayla’s voice cracked through her thoughts.
She blinked.
The rich scent of blood was still there, but the terrible pull had loosened.
Suddenly, she was staring at a corpse instead of food.
Breathing hard, Ailsa turned to Kayla and pulled her into a tight hug. For a heartbeat, she simply clung on. “Thank the Gods,” she gasped. “They didn’t harm you.”
Kayla wrenched herself free of the embrace, jaw tight, hazel eyes startled. “How did—”
“Not now,” Darach cut her off. “We don’t have time.”
Kayla turned and dragged her gaze down him. “Who the fuck are you?”